


How to Get Iwa-chan to Confess to You in 7 Days!

by sapph_trash



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Confessions, Cute, Dorks in Love, Everyone Is Gay, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Gay, Gen, Karasuno, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi Chapter, OTP Feels, Oikawa overthinks too much, Seijou, aoba johsai, i dont know what to tag this, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21659845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapph_trash/pseuds/sapph_trash
Summary: Oikawa enlists the help of his fellow teammates—Makki and Mattsun who, of course, share ONE brain cell—to come up with a Plan™ on how to get Iwaizumi to confess to Oikawa, whilist Iwaizumi acts a bit too dense... just to torture Oikawa a bit.Warning: slight angst (skipping meals, anxiety, insecurities)
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 102
Collections: Iwaoiks Fics





	1. The Beginning

“Alright, bitches,” Tooru said, plopping down cross-legged on the gym floor on the tiny space in between Makki and Mattsun, “since Iwa-chan’s not here today, I need your help.”

Mattsun crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “You need someone to spike your sets?” 

“What?” Tooru frowned. “No. I need to plot.”

“Plot what?” cut Makki. “A murder?” 

Shouts echoed. Footsteps thundered. The deafening roar of a ball whizzed until—

_Bang._

It slammed not even an inch above Tooru’s face. 

“Maybe… Maybe fucking, now, i’ll plan it—” He pushed himself to his knees, ready to crawl and _bash_ the head in of the idiot who thought ruining his pretty face was far less scary than knowing how to direct a goddamn spike—

Mattsun grabbed his arm and yanked him back down as a _sorry_ barely registered in his brain, some trembling first year running up to grab the ball and away when he caught the scowl etched onto Tooru’s face. “Calm down,” said Mattsun, “There are better ways to torture people.” 

“Yeah,” Makki unhelpfully added, “like changing their alarm ringtone to heavy rock…” He leaned closer to Mattsun. “Hey, we should do that to Oikawa some time.” 

Mattsun grinned. “When do we get his phone? After practise when he showers?”

Tooru gaped. “You guys do… realise I’m still here?” 

He spoke to wind, his voice carrying on the tunes of a mockingbird… in the fucking forest of middle of nowhere America. 

Makki continued his conversation. “Nah, he finishes way too late. We’ll do it while he practises. We know where he keeps his phone. 

Maybe Iwaizumi texted him something questionable too… Who knows what they do when they’re… alone—”

“What part of _‘I’m here and I need your help’_ do you not understand?” Tooru snapped. “We don’t have long. Iwa-chan isn’t here today so we better get to it before coach comes back and notices we aren’t playing.” 

Mattsun stretched his arms and yawned. “Where is he, anyway?” 

Tooru frowned. “Funeral. One of his cousin’s, I think.” He drew his knees up to his chest and stared at the bruise on his leg. Iwaizumi had given him it after he’d complained about how little attention he’d received. “Don’t think they were close, but his mum wanted him to go out of respect…” 

_Maybe this is a bad idea,_ Tooru thought. _Maybe I should steer clear of romance with Iwaizumi all together. It’s not like he’s ever let it known he likes me or anything… it’s the opposite, really._

Makki and Mattsun shared a look and nodded, almost synchronised like those deviant attacks Karasuno always did.

Tooru stiffened. Like those attacks, this meant trouble. 

Their hands slammed onto Tooru’s back with a resounding _slap._ The pain at first was scarce, a mild numbness spread across his back. But it rose. Higher and higher. Higher until— until— it _struck_ his body. 

His back arched. He cried out. 

“You—” Tooru squeaked. “You—!”

Makki and Mattsun peeled themselves from the wall and sat cross-legged across from him. 

“Stop your dramaticness,” said Makki, rubbing his hands together and leaning forward. He paused. Turned to Mattsun. “Is that a word?”

Mattsun cocked his head. “Huh? I don’t know. Let me check—“ 

Tooru slapped the phone out of his hand. It skidded. Across the gym floor. 

Mattsun stared at it, solemly. He was frozen. 

“If you dumbasses can't help me, I’ll ask someone who will—“ Tooru rose up, but yet again he was pulled down. 

“Okay, okay,” sad Makki. “Calm down. Tell your big brothers what you need, and we’ll help you out of the kindness of our hearts…." 

“... and maybe some pork buns,” Mattsun continued. 

Tooru sighed, the pain long forgotten. He looked up at the ceiling, at the blinding lamp-lights that spotted his vision in tiny black dots the size of ants. He held his knees to his chest tighter and closed his eyes. 

He inhaled. The thudding football that screeched and the harsh panting, the guttural shouts and the slam of the volleyball became muffled in his ears until silence came over him. On the count of three he exhaled, just like Iwaizumi had taught him. 

Makki and Mattsun voices were far away. He drowned them out too. 

He clenched his eyes shut tighter, his wet eyelids fluttering against his too-hot cheeks. If Iwaizumi was here, he’d drag his sorry ass to the court. If Iwaizumi was here, maybe Tooru would be weak enough to confess. 

But he wasn’t. 

He opened his eyes. 

Makki and Mattsun were pointing at the screen of one of their phones—they had matching cat covers with the same design, who knew which one was which—and chuckling to themselves. 

“Guys,” said Tooru. They didn’t move an inch. He slammed his hands on the ground and leaned forward. Though dizziness struck him, and he wobbled, he continued on. “I’ll treat you to pork buns on the way home from practice…” _Since Iwaizumi isn’t here to tease me about it._ “...So, let’s make… a plan.”

Makki grinned. “You came to the right person.” 

“There’s two of you,” interrupted Tooru.

Makki raised his eyebrow. “I said what I said.” 

“But—“

“Do you want our help to seduce Iwaizumi or not?” Mattsun said. 

Tooru gaped. “It isn’t to seduce him! It’s to make him confess to me, you idiots—“

“Hush now,” said Makki, patting Tooru. “Let your big brothers help out.” 

“I thought you were one person?” Tooru crossed his arms. “You lie to me, how can I trust you now?” 

Makki smiled. “You can’t.” 

What the fuck had he gotten himself in to? 

***

Makki was right. Tooru couldn’t trust him. 

The sun had set, casting a golden shimmer over half his alien-printed bed sheets. Tooru settled on the half shielded by shadows, curled up in himself as he mulled over the plan. Any minute now, Iwaizumi would be home. He’d cracked open the window, if only to allow himself to hear the cawing of the crows and the whistling gust that breezed cool wind over his shivering skin. There was no time to think. There was no time to give up before he’d even begun—not when the engine of Iwaizumi’s dad’s car growled and the familiar slam of Iwaizumi’s door handle signalled his return. 

When was the last time he’d walked home alone, not beside the domineering presence that was Iwaizumi? When he entered his dusty, quiet house alone? Coach had given him hell for ‘lazing around’, since Iwaizumi wasn’t there to scold him, and he was still feeling the soreness in his legs. Was that a good excuse not to get up? Not to follow the plan? 

Makki and Mattsun would have his ass if he didn’t go through with it. _‘Pork buns for the rest of the month!’_ he was reminded, _‘Unless you don’t want to go broke, don’t be a chicken…’_

Of course, they’d called him a more… colourful term, but that didn’t mean he had to repeat it to himself. 

...but maybe Iwaizumi would want to be alone after the funeral. 

_Ding!_

The doorbell rang. And again. 

Fists thumped into the door. And again. And again. 

“ _Oikawa!_ ” Iwaizumi yelled. “Open this damn door. Since when do you have a lock on this fucking thing?” 

Tooru poked his head through the window. The wind slammed into his face. Knocked his fringe over his eyes. There—Iwaizumi was there. Here. The scowl etched on his face, the stiffness of his body… 

“Yohoo…” Tooru smiled. “Maybe it’s locked to prevent crazy stalkers like you from—” 

Iwaizumi’s face turned murderous. 

Tooru’s eyes widened. 

He slammed the window shut and screeched. He stumbled back—crashed to the ground as Iwaizumi shoved the window open and hurled his body through. 

“Shittykawa,” snapped Iwaizumi, bracing himself on the carpeted ground, “Where the fuck were you? You didn’t reply to any of my messages! The funeral was boring, christ, I thought I’d die instead—”

“Iwa-chan,” said Tooru, “Your mum wouldn’t like it if you were disrespectful, hm? I was being a good son and letting you focus on the funeral…” 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. He dusted his… suit. 

Tooru’s throat dried. _Don’t check him out—Don’t check him out—Don’t check him out—_

He checked Iwaizumi out. 

It wasn’t everyday Tooru saw Iwaizumi wearing something other than his uniform or baggy, totally unfashionable clothes, okay? He totally had a right to ogle the white dress shirt clinging tight to his toned biceps, to the tanned skin on his collarbone hiding the dark curls of hair down to his chest. And those… those legs. Tooru gulped. 

“Is there something funny on me, huh?” Iwaizumi so unmanly drawled out. His dark eyes were sharp, sharper than the spikes on his pitch-black hair, sharper than his own spikes as his ace. “Why the fuck are you staring at me, uglykawa?” 

“Don’t be so rude,” squeaked Tooru. “I was just distracted by the fat you put on. Really, you should be more careful about what you eat. You _are_ a volleyball player…” 

He was definitely not thinking about his jawline. Definitely not at all. 

Iwaizumi frowned. “Have _you_ eaten?” 

“What, no jab? Then, you’ve realised it too?” Iwaizumi slammed his fist into his head with a resounding bang. “Ow, ow, okay, I ate a pork bun on the way home.” He scowled. “You’re so mean! You just gave me a bruise. How rude! What will all the girls think seeing such a horrendous sight on me?” 

“Shut up, shittykawa.” Iwaizumi stood up. He loomed over him, a frown seemingly permanent on his face. “Is that all you ate today?”

Tooru crawled to his bed and sprawled over the cool covers. He replied, but his words were muffled behind the fluffy blanket.

“What did you say?” snapped Iwaizumi, grabbing him by his shirt and yanking him up. 

“Ow, ow, okay,” whined Tooru, “I said yes. I was busy, okay? Let me go—” 

Iwaizumi stalked over to the window, dragging Tooru along like some sort of ragged doll, and shoved the window open. “Dad,” he called out. 

Tooru, pressed up against Iwaizumi’s back, could obviously not see anything, but he did hear a slam—probably the car door, or boot—and Iwaizumi’s dad call back in acknowledgment. 

“Oikawa’s coming over for dinner, his parent’s are still at work—” Late hours, has always been like that, the Iwaizumi family knew that already, why’d Iwaizumi have to remind them? “—that okay?” 

“Yeah, son,” replied Iwaizumi’s dad, softer than the son himself. How’d the sweet, lovely Iwaizumi family raise a brute like Iwaizumi? “But, go through the front door, like _normal_ people.” 

“Yeah, Iwa-chan,” said Oikawa, prying away from Iwaizumi’s strong grip, “don’t be so _obscene._ ” 

“That goes for you, too, Oikawa,” called out Iwaizumi’s dad. 

Tooru frowned. _I take it back. Both of them are meanies._

“Come on,” grunted Iwaizumi, stalking to the door and yanking it open. “Oh, and Oikawa?” He paused, head hung over the door frame. “If you ever skip meals like today again when I’m not here, a punch is not the only thing you’re getting.” 

_This is the perfect chance to get in his pants,_ the Makki in his head reminded him. 

You know what? Fuck Makki. _I don’t need to tease Iwaizumi like they suggested—I’m doing this my own fucking way._

By the end of the week, he’ll definitely get Iwaizumi to confess. With someone as irresistible as him, it’d be a piece of cake. 

“Are you my mum?” replied Tooru, in that sing-song voice he knew always enraged Iwaizumi.

At the punch to his gut, and the accompanying wheeze, Tooru might throw up before he’d get the chance to try any of his schemes out.


	2. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scheme 2: Love letters and Oikawa pines to the death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pining Oikawa ftw. This has been super sappy and I have no regrets. 
> 
> Y'all have any schemes you wanna see, comment below! Let me know what you think, too.

The plan was simple. When he’d mentioned it to Makki and Mattsun, they’d asked if he had given it any thought. _Too simple,_ they had argued. _Iwaizumi won’t be impressed by that._

Tooru had, in fact, given it a lot of thought. 

Iwaizumi wasn’t the kind of person who’d fall for the cliche. The rosy-speckled flowers, heart-felt declarations and love baskets—those would only serve to _push_ Iwaizumi away. If Iwaizumi loved him the way Tooru loved him, it didn’t come to him with a major force. It wasn’t the crowd’s deafening cheers during their volleyball wins. It wasn’t the summers they spent together—nor their whole childhood, middle or secondary days. 

It was the little things—the little things like how Iwaizumi looked _now,_ alone in Tooru’s bedroom, settled atop the fine alien-printed sheets with Iwaizumi’s laptop open and Godzilla—for the hundredth time, and counting—playing. It was the small smile that grew more noticeable when he thought Tooru wasn’t looking. The accompanying dimples, too. It made Tooru’s heart ache. They complimented his face and despite the hard lines, despite the sharp jawline and scars that came from those long hours in their childhood outside, along the deserted, sun-steamed streets and the cloggy, drizzling rivers, the only word that came to his mind to describe how Iwaizumi looked now, the only word that felt _right,_ was—

Soft. He looked soft. Warm, like the heaters shuttering high in his golden latern-lit room. 

In Tooru’s hand, he clenched his notebook. Faded roses decorated the dusty, dirt-ridden cover, one he had coveted ever since he first began highschool, mostly to document his volleyball plays—wins and losses and everything in between—but also other… personal stuff. Though, that was rare. If he didn’t think about it, he didn’t have to think about it. 

He flicked through the book, landing on the half-scrawled over page. He clicked his pen and circled another bullet point half-way down. What else could he do? He’d already come up with five schemes? But he’d promised Makki and Mattsun seven, and they were _very_ specific about the timeline. A flush crept over his face. Was he really thinking about how to seduce Iwaizumi when he was in the room with Tooru? 

“Oi,” snapped Iwaizumi, but his voice was far-away. “Are you even fucking watching this?” 

Tooru twirled the pen in between his fingers. Would Iwaizumi go for something outlandish? Maybe sending doves to Iwaizumi’s house as a… nudge? No… That’d just freak him out. Scaring him away was _not_ part of the plan. 

The movie stuttered to a pause. 

Iwaizumi could be oblivious sometimes. Maybe he should just write him a note: _ask Oikawa out! Love, Oikawa._ Or would that be too obvious—? 

The notebook wrenched out of his hands. His pen clanked to the ground, rolling to the fluffy neon-orange rug. 

Tooru jumped, a squeak he would never admit to echoing within his bedroom walls. “Iwa-chan!” he whined. “What did you do that for? Give that notebook back to me…” 

“Don’t make me put on this awful movie when you’re not even gonna watch it,” said Iwaizumi. He gently placed the book in the little space between them. “What are you so distracted for?”

Tooru grinned. “Aw, Iwa-chan. Are you worried about me? I didn’t take you for such a sap—ow. Ow, okay, stop hitting me. That’s child abuse.” 

Iwaizumi leaned back and sighed. “You’re so fucking sensitive.” 

Leaning forward, Tooru picked up the notebook and hesitantly dropped it on his bedside table, next to the orange-luminous lights he’d definitely turn on later for more… planning. 

But now… Now Iwaizumi was here. Crowding his space like he always did, warm and overpowering and he wouldn’t dare think about a time when he wasn’t _here._ Eyes shut and breathing even, Tooru nudged Iwaizumi. “Go home. You’re sleepy.” 

Iwaizumi curled up on the bed. “Fuck off,” he mumbled, almost incoherent. “Let me stay.” 

Tooru spluttered. “Okay,” he said weakly, glad that Iwaizumi was too far gone to properly hear him. Face smushed to the pillow, the hard lines that always seemed permanent softened as Iwaizumi relaxed into Tooru’s bedsheets. It was a wonder Tooru’s heart could survive, knowing he was one of the few people who got to see him this way. Who was closer than just friends. Who didn’t see him every day. Maybe Tooru was being clingy, maybe, but… How was it possible to miss someone _so much_ that was always here?

Just— _Fuck._ Holy fuck how couldn’t he love this boy? 

Tooru yanked the bedsheets underneath Iwaizumi and ignored his cute little complaints. As he pulled the covers over Iwaizumi and reached for his phone to text Iwaizumi’s mum about her son staying over,—not ready to face the screams from both his and Iwaizumi’s parents the one time he hadn’t mentioned their sleepovers, both supposedly worried sick waking up to find their child _missing_ — Tooru decided, _really_ decided this time, he’d start his plan tomorrow morning. 

_Tomorrow._

For now, he’d try to calm his heart down. 

***

“Wake up, shittykawa! It’s half before five—” Iwaizumi yelled. 

Oikawa shot up, panic freezing his body. _Fuck—fuck—fuck—I’m gonna be late—_

Wait. Half before five? 

He scowled — harshly threw the blanket off his body. “Iwa-chan,” he whined, a shiver wracking through his half-uncovered body. Cue Iwaizumi’s bold and completely unsecretive laughter, followed by Tooru’s, “why are you always so mean to me?”

Iwaizumi shut up suddenly, face soured and serious as he stared at Tooru’s midsection. Down Tooru looked, ready to throw a pillow at whatever god-awful embarrassment state he was caught in because God knew he was _not_ a pretty waker, when —

Tooru saw his stomach muscles peek through his rolled-up sleep-shirt, an old gym one from Kitagawa. He looked back at Iwaizumi and allowed himself a moment to stare at the dazed look on Iwaizumi’s pretty face, pretty when it was quiet and soft like this, not harsh and angry and scowling. Then he smiled, slow, and yawned, making sure his shirt rose more and made sure he caught the drooling look on Iwaizumi’s face when he did so. 

Iwaizumi scowled, then. “I’m going to go get changed at my house. See you in an hour, when you fucker finish.” 

Tooru didn’t have it in himself to deflate at the harsh words, not when there was some proof that his feelings weren’t one-sided, not when he and Iwaizumi both knew that both their uniforms fit at the bottom drawer in each of their rooms, each of their houses, and Iwaizumi was already wearing his. So he allowed Iwaizumi to catch his breath. Allowed Iwaizumi to prepare himself for the day ahead and allowed himself to prepare the same, his face, hair, uniform — in that order — with more precision this time. With more care. 

He looked at himself in the mirror. He patted his hair once more and he smiled. Today was going to be a good day. 

***

He was wrong. Today was not going to be a good day. First, Iwaizumi had forgotten his money when it was _his_ day to pay for their breakfast, milk bread for him this friday morning — his one and only cheat day for the month! — and gross tofu for him like always, so he had to go to school with an empty stomach, when they had morning practice and godawful _English_ with that annoying teacher who hated him with a passion for no reason at all, and, _and_ — Makki and Mattsun were late, so he couldn’t talk to them about the plan for today until first break, which wouldn’t give him enough time to perfect the plan. Third of all he got a B+ on that math test he was so sure he aced, really, what the hell was that about—?

 _Bang!_ His Japanese Classics teacher slapped her hand on his desk and looked at him pointedly. He raised his hands in surrender and muttered an apology absentmindedly, but still he did not open his notebook. He’d get notes off one of the girls in his fanclub later. Really, Iwaizumi would be pissed if he knew Tooru was exploiting girls like this, but they wanted to do it out of their own willpower! He wasn’t doing anything bad, it wasn’t like he was forcing them to do anything, they offered it to him constantly. Right now, he had more important matters to attend to. Namely, how to make the physical aspects of his plan work, the love letters—

His eyes widened. He was so dumb at times. Of course, the answer was obvious. 

After class he shyly strutted to one of the girls in his class, took a chair, and sat in front of her. A hush fell over the room and squeals rose in return. 

“Hi there,” he said, a dazzling smile plastered on his face — a practised move. 

Her face flushed a bright red. “Uhm… um, I.” 

“I need your help, cute girl,” he said. He fluttered his eyelashes for extra effect. “You see…” He explained his plan slowly and loudly so surely she and everyone in the class would hear, and made sure to say the part about giving his gym locker code to her in return even louder, whilst giving himself a mental reminder to buy a new lock later. Maybe he’d get Iwaizumi to buy one for him, after he confessed! It wouldn’t be long, considering. 

In between classes Tooru somehow cornered Makki, who would most definitely relay the information to Mattsun, repeated the plan to him, and relayed all but one command granted to the two of them. Makki accepted it with a wild smile and wild eyes, repeating it much too loudly for all to hear. _Whatever you do, make sure Iwaizumi gets to the gym lockers while I’m there._

He passed Mattsun later, who winked at him and whispered _as if lover-boy doesn’t already stay behind for you always anyway._ It made him a little too gleeful, enough for him not to snap when his kneepad crumbled in his hands from the milk his idiot cute nephew stuffed in his bag, the imbecile! A cute one at that! 

He’d get it from Tooru later, but for now… 

It was almost time. He just had to get through practice, something he usually looked forward to the most in the day. But all throughout he was dreaming. Iwaizumi. How he would blush when he confessed. How his hands would clench his tight when they were on a date. How his mum would squeeze both their cheeks when they tell them they started dating. How he’d call Iwaizumi _his_ and babe and sweetheart and lover and all the names he’d surely get a slap for, but he absolutely knew Iwaizumi would secretly love. When he set the ball to Iwaizumi and he spiked a point, the smile on his face, gleeful and free, would be the same as when Tooru would accept his confession. The steady hands that slapped his back on his dump would soon be clenched in _his_ hands, and, and —

Practice was over, and Tooru had a perfectly acceptable reason to skip his usual late-hour drills. His mum would kill him if he missed friday dinner nights, the only day she came home early enough for them to even see each other, other than small passerby nods in greeting or a kiss to the cheek. When he was older, and had kids, he’d definitely _always_ be there with them. Who knows, maybe he’d adopt some with Iwaizumi, but who knows how that angry oger would deal with small potatoes. Maybe he’d make them for dinner! 

Even then Iwaizumi sometimes came by friday nights with his mum and joined dinner whenever they were too lazy to cook anything, even though both of them could give Gordon Ramsay, that British chef, a run for his money.  
It was time now, for him to go to his locker. Iwaizumi would follow soon behind, after he packed up the nets he’d been tasked to every friday. Wasn’t he excited for this the whole day? Wasn’t he ready, pumped, perfectly sane? So why was he frozen to the bone, frozen to his spot, knees and feet burning with throbbing pain. 

Was he worried something would go wrong? Was he worried Iwaizumi would think he was foolish, dumb, an absolute coward to not confess to him first? What if that look in the morning had just been Iwaizumi acting like a perfectly sane human being, to desire for such a handsome, beautiful, wondrous specimen? What if he thought his attitude was too disgusting to even be with him. His last “girlfriend” had dumped him because of that, and his previous for his over-attention to volleyball. What if—

“What are you standing there like an idiot for?” said Coach, thick brows turned upright. 

Tooru flushed. “Sorry, just a bit tired.” 

Coach shrugged. “You hurt your knee again I’ll get Iwaizumi to deal with you. Go home and rest.” 

Iwaizumi again, and again, and again. It was like they were inseparable, and maybe that line of thought was true. One summer years ago Iwaizumi had gone alone to visit his uncle down in Tokyo, and Tooru had been lonely the _entire time,_ the entire time Iwaizumi had bragged about the fun time he was having away from his bratty, annoying, dumbass attitude. Even then he texted every night, and he called when Tooru whined too much, and it was those night Tooru could sleep better, dazed and drowsy to the sound of Iwaizumi’s rough voice. 

“No worries, coach,” replied Tooru. “I’ll do just that.” 

But coach had already walked away, bag in his hand and keys tossed to Iwaizumi near the exit door, the only ‘responsible’ member of the team according to him. Forget the time Iwaizumi had choked on a piece of bread when he was six after not knowing that he needed to cut it smaller for his small mouth. Forget the time Iwaizumi had locked them both out of each of their houses, leaving both their keys in and forgetting to take them both. Forget it, forget it, forget perfect Iwaizumi and forget Tooru’s fears and fuck it he’d do it _now,_ he’d go through with the plan if he had to die for it. 

Maybe that was a bit extra, but he lived for the dramatics. 

So, Tooru found himself in front of his locker just as Iwaizumi began to roll in the nets inside the storage room. Soon, he’d come. Soon, he’d get the confession of his dreams. 

In front of the green small lockers, Tooru smiled. He twisted it to the numbers of his code he’d given out so casually, slowly, surely. There was no need to rush things. He could take his time, slow and sure, as he imagined Iwaizumi would lay him on one of their beds and kiss his breath away. 

The lock clicked. He opened it, opened his locker and braced for it. 

Nothing. 

Tooru blinked. Once, twice. 

Empty, save for his outdoor shoes and bag. 

Iwaizumi’s head peeked through, followed by Makki and Mattsun with that apologetic grin on their stupid faces. 

“Ah,” said Iwaizumi, shouldering past him to his locker on the other side of the room. “Right, forgot to ask, did give out your combination to those fangirls like a fucking idiot again? I cleared out all the letters for you.” 

Tooru spluttered. “W-When?” 

Iwaizumi shrugged. “Came by to get your water bottle for you.” _When I didn’t even ask him to, too, fuck, why did he have to be so good to me?_

In the corner, Tooru could hear Makki and Mattsun could snicker in the corner. 

“Get your stuff already,” said Iwaizumi. “Mum and I coming over today, they’ll kill both of us if we’re late.” 

His dad always worked night shifts on friday, it was ‘girls’ night for their mum’s and normal for them. Normal. He wanted things to change, he wanted them to be _closer,_ but was it worth it, even, when the universe was practically already plotting against them. 

When Tooru passed Makki and Mattsun, the two demons, they whispered a mocking “maybe next time” — almost rehearsed.

**Author's Note:**

> These ships are the only reason for my living. brb while I rewatch haikyuu again. 
> 
> I'll try to post the next chapter ASAP!! We all need our cute devious gay boi's to fill the holes in our hearts and lives.
> 
> Let me know what you guys want to see next :D


End file.
